Excerpt for Lusty Lee Logs 21 - 25 by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

This page may contain adult content. If you are under age 18, or you arrived by accident, please do not read further.

Box Set 5: Lusty Lee Logs 21-25


Previously:

Lusty Lee Box Set 1: Prequel through Log 5


Lusty Lee Box Set 2: Logs 6 through 10 with bonus Log 7a


Lusty Lee Box Set 3: Logs 11 through 16


Lusty Lee Box Set 4: Logs 16 through 20


The logs will number 30 (six groups of five segments). Each segment will have a cover with the same bikini or lingerie top and its corresponding box set will feature the same model displaying the matching bikini or lingerie bottom.


Copyright Notice: Copyright by Jason Pinaster 2017; all rights reserved.


This is a work of fiction; the characters are not you.


Cover Notes and Credits


Back Notes: About Jason Pinaster, other books and stories by the author.


Copyright 2017 by Jason Pinaster. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people outside your household. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.


Fiction: This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely and entirely coincidental and not intended by the author. In short: this story is not about you, anyone you know, or about the acts or omissions of anyone living or dead.


Cover credits: The lady in the russet lingerie is Ashley Foxx photographed by Bob Shepherd on Flickr and her images were used either pursuant direct, not to mention generous, permission. All photoshopping was done by me.


Acknowledgement: Many thanks for the suggestions from and proofreading by Sallyann Cole. All errors remain mine.


Table of Contents

21 Cops

22 Paintball

23 Interrogation

24 The Athlete

25 Splosh


21 Cops


One minute I was ringing off from my 911 call and sliding inch by inch down the wall of my apartment entrance until I was sitting slumped on the floor in my ransacked apartment. The next, Rambo is jumping from corner to corner, his gun drawn.

Rambo is a uniformed police officer. Physically fit and oozing testosterone from every pore. He’s checking to make sure that the person ‘or persons’ who’d broken into my apartment have left. I push myself to standing and inspect the contents of my fridge which are scattered over the kitchen table and floor. In the living room, the back of my couch has been slit open, as have its seat cushions and pillows. My CDs and personal papers were strewn about the floor.

Rambo reentered the living room. “Are you okay?” he asked.

I nodded. Sex with Rambo would be hot. But I’d just had angry sex with Michael—Michael Rayburn, the lover I’d caught cheating on me, and the lawyer who’d given me my one and only case—and I wasn’t sure that another round of savage sex would be good for my karma. So I decided that if anything was going to happen, Rambo would have to take the initiative.

Rambo started taking down my account of what had happened. When he asked for my contact information, my heart skipped a beat, but I realized that this was merely pro forma, for his report. Still, when he asked whether there was any other way to reach me, I could tell that his interest in me went beyond my break and enter.

“Do you have any enemies?” he asked.

I shook my head and watched him enter the answer in his notebook with his strong and powerful hands.

“Should we check out your bedroom?” he asked.

I favored Rambo with a broad and inviting smile. Embarrassment fluttered across his face as he realized what he’d just asked me. Then the enthusiasm of my smile registered and he smiled back.

He was glancing into my bedroom when Eric arrived.

Eric was disheveled, only half of the buttons on his shirt were done up and one of its front flaps hung outside his jeans. At least my assistant was wearing a Tshirt. The red hair atop his head was unkempt. Worse, he looked like he hadn’t shaved for days. But Rambo, his shaved dome half a head shorter than Eric’s six-foot-three, his uniform perfectly maintained, seemed to find him adorable. Rambo was wide-shouldered and muscular, Eric thin and lanky.

“Is she okay?” Eric asked Rambo, his tone flirtatious.

Rambo shook his head and smiled up at Eric. “No, she’s fine.” He pointed back and forth between Eric and me. “Are you…”

Eric shook his head—dearie me no—and I swore he almost put his hand in front of his mouth. “She’s my boss.”

Rambo and Eric smiled at each other. Rambo flexed his arm as he poised his pen over his notebook. “Where can I contact you?” I cleared my throat. Rambo looked at me. “In case I need it for the investigation.”

Eric placed a finger atop the notebook and, when Rambo turned back towards him, began to dictate his address and phone number.

“No, I don’t have any enemies,” I told Rambo, intent on refocusing attention where it belonged.

Rambo made the appropriate entry in his notebook.

“What’s missing?” Eric asked.

Rambo looked back at Eric.

“Nothing from the kitchen or the living room,” I advised, determined to have both their attention on me.

“What about the bedroom?” asked Eric.

I look at Rambo, “Was it…”

Rambo nodded slowly, trying to look sympathetic.

I sighed and started towards my bedroom. Eric and Rambo took half a step closer to each other but neither made a move to follow after me.

I was about to make a loud ‘harrumph’ when a Crime Scene Tech shuffled in. He was thin to the point of being scrawny. He had a sallow complexion into which large, dark-brown eyes had been inserted. His eyes scanned my apartment and leered at me but the polite expression on his face balanced the intrusion of his eyes. He was wearing a white shirt, black pants and a black polyester jacket with CSI in large white letters on the back.

Rambo waved at the tech, “Hi, Marty.”

Somehow I knew that Marty hadn’t been laid in months but that I’d still have to be subtle if I wanted to seduce him. Just what my unbalanced karma needed!

Rambo gestured towards me, “Marty, this is Ms. Brandt. It’s her apartment.”

Marty turned towards me and gave half a nod, his expression formal, “Ms. Brandt.”

“You can call me Lee,” I told him.

Marty nodded but didn’t say anything. He made a beeline towards my emptied fridge.

“Marty, do you need me?” Rambo asked.

Marty, now staring intently into my fridge, shook his head.

“Okay, I’ll shut the door behind me,” Rambo responded. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rambo and Eric traipse off together.

I removed a half-squished cup of yogurt from the seat of one of the chairs in the kitchen and watched Marty slowly and methodically scan the remaining contents of my fridge. At last, his eyes poked around the edge of the fridge door.

“Ms. Brandt, this may take some time.” His voice was soft, soothing.

“Please call me ‘Lee’. I have time.”

He shrugged and moved to the cabinets above the counter next to my fridge.

Nothing had apparently been disturbed in the upper cabinets, so he transferred his attention to the cabinets below the counter.

“Is it okay if I call you Marty?” I asked.

“CSI Cormack would be more respectful, not to mention more accurate.”

“Very well, CSI Cormack, what are you looking for?”

“I’ll know it when I see it.”

“What about fingerprints?”

He shook his head. “They wore gloves.”

I looked around the shambles of what was left of my apartment. “How do you know they wore gloves?”

“There was latex trace on your lock from when they picked it.”

I had forgotten that Marty—CSI Cormack—hadn’t needed to knock when he’d arrived.

Marty pointed to a CD on the kitchen table. “What’s this?”

“It’s from the living room,” I said, moving to pick it up.

But Marty’s hand—latex gloved hand—blocked mine. “Don’t touch.”

“It’s just a—”

“It’s just the only CD the burglars brought into the kitchen.”

I looked around. Marty was right. It was the only one they’d removed from the living room. It was a compilation of Barry White’s love songs.

Marty pulled a thin knife from his pocket and pried open the CD cover. Inside was the Barry White CD. He carefully removed the CD, then replaced it, grunted and moved into the living room.

“What are these papers?” Marty pointed to a fan-shaped pile of letter-sized pages to the left of my coffee table.

“Case reports.” He looked at me, obviously dissatisfied with my response. “I’m a private investigator,” I expanded.

“Are they all from one case?”

I nodded. I only had the one case.

Marty pointed to the coffee table. “They photographed them there, then tossed them aside.” He pointed to the fan-shaped pile of papers.

He moved towards my bedroom while I looked back and forth between the papers and my coffee table. He was right!

Marty was standing in the door to my bedroom when I caught up. “Ms. Brandt. You might not want to see this.”

“It’s my bedroom why—”

“Did you leave your lingerie on your bed when you left?”

“No. It was in the dresser. Why do you ask such a question?”

“Ms. Brandt, you—”

But I had already managed to peer around him. Up one side of my bed, arranged as if they were for sale at a high-end store, were all my panties. Down the other side were my brassieres. In the center was my favorite fetish outfit: black leather mini-skirt, a black bikini string top, a leather collar with one chrome ring in the center. The crotch of a pair of red silk panties poked out the bottom of the miniskirt. Below the miniskirt, as if they were a pair of legs, was a pair of stockings.

“—not want to see this,” he finished.

Where my head would have been was a book. Between the stockings was my favorite vibrator.

Marty turned to face me and did his best to block my view inside the bedroom. “Ms. Brandt—”

“’Ms. Brandt’, seems to be a bit formal for someone who’s seen so much of me, don’t you think, CSI Cormack.” I pointed at his chest with my finger, making it plain that I intended to imminently poke him with it.

“Lee,” he conceded.

“Marty.”

He nodded. “Marty.”

“Now that we’re on first-name basis, what the f— heck is up in my bedroom?!?”

He stepped to one side and we both peered in.

“When you left this morning…”

“Everything was in the dresser drawer.”

“Do you have a stalker?”

“No. Do you have a fetish freak?”

Marty shook his head. “No, we don’t have any other cases like this.”

We stood looking at what was on the bed, each in our own thoughts. I suddenly became aware that we were standing very close to each other and that my right foot was in front of his left. I tried to step away but stumbled and he had to catch me.

“Sorry,” I apologized, taking two backward steps into the bedroom.

He didn’t comment and once again we were in silence. Then Marty took a step into the room and pointed over my shoulder at the book. “Is that the one where the hero ties the woman, a buxom brunette, to his wall with leather bindings? Her hands are high above her head and her legs are spread apart. She is nude. When he wants he fondles her and sucks her nipples. She's just the right height so that he can penetrate her at will. When he's not in the mood, he ignores her."

He turned to me, his face expressionless.

I shook my head, "No, it’s the one where the heroine leads the man by the leash. He's a thin studious type. She drags him wherever she goes with only his leash and harness on. When he has been bad, she spanks his bare bum without mercy. When he had been good, she slides her hand lower..."

“I haven’t read that one, but it sounds interesting.” There was the hint of a smile on his lips. “Is it anything like the one where he pursues her for weeks and months and the final scene has her quivering on the bed, her hips propped up with a pillow, her tight pinkness liberally lubricated ready for his merciless thrusts?" I couldn’t tell for sure, but there seemed to be delight under his poker face.

I favored him with a broad smile and shook my head in my best coquette fashion. "It’s more like the one where she teases him without pity and when he has become uncontrollably hot, she rubs him all over with ice, slides an ice cube up his ass and then gives him head with a milkshake dribbling out of her mouth."

"I may have read that one. And by then he's so horny that his erection stays hard despite the cold milkshake and he takes her with passion just short of violence?" I nodded and Marty continued, "But what about the one where they paint each other into one grand mural for all eternity?"

Now he too was smiling from ear to ear. He stepped around me, fully into the room and waved his hand over the bed, "What is your choice pretty lady?"

I reached for a red bra, but his hand blocked me. “Please don’t; it’s still a crime scene.” He looked back and forth between me and my bed full of lingerie. “I have to process all this. And I won’t be able to concentrate with you here.”

“When will I be allowed back in?”

“In a day or two.”

“So, I have to stay in a hotel tonight?”

“’Fraid so.” He did look genuinely sorry.

“Maybe we could meet later for drinks?”

That brought the smile back to his face and he nodded. “In a day or two, once I’ve finished my initial investigation.”

Two days later, he was already at the hotel’s bar when I arrived. He was still wearing his white shirt and black pants but now he’d substituted a suit jacket for his CSI polyester. "Do you want anything to drink?" he asked.

I shook, my head "No." and he took my hand and led me out of the bar. I was wearing a Maple Leafs hockey jersey which stretched down past my knees.

In the elevator Marty turned to me, "Do you have anything on underneath that sweater?"

I shook my head. He gave me a gentle kiss on my cheek. The elevator mirror reflected an odd looking couple—me jiggling breasts under the jersey, its blue bringing out the color of mischief within my eyes, his formal jacket, the somber dark brown eyes. He was half a foot taller than me, his short dark hair another contrast to my lighter curls.


Purchase this book or download sample versions for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-10 show above.)